blessed martyr, St. George." Then the elect knight is brought before the sovereign, who, in the act of putting the sky-coloured riband about his neck, says: "wear this riband about thy neck, adorned with the image of the blessed martyr and soldier of Christ, St. George." It may amuse some and make others mourn, if we spend a few moments in tracing the points of difference and the points of resemblance between these heraldic orders, and the honours worn by some of our divines. To sermonize after the puritanic fashion, I would say, first, they differ alphabetically. The one shows the letters K.G.; the other shows the letters D.D. Again, they differ materially. The one is united to wealth, commonly; the other is regardless of anything so secular, provided always that £40 be forthcoming to meet the fees essential to the grant of a diploma. Moreover, and not to be tedious, they differ honourably. The one calls forth the respectful homage of churchmen and bishops; the other incurs their contempt. In these and things like these they differ.

In what do they agree? They are both marks of kingly favour. The one honour is conferred by the personal hands of royalty; the other is conveyed by royal commission; in other words, by men called universities, chartered by the crown. Again, they both acknowledge a human sovereign to be at once the fountain of honour in the army and in the church. The diploma is given by the same royal soldier which gives the garter and the ribbon: the one, as we have seen, in honour of "God omnipotent, and in memory of the blessed soldier, St. George;" the other is granted by the same authority in honour of divine wisdom, as a token of special fitness to open the book from heaven! Moreover, they are both expressions of sovereign pleasure, apart often from either merit or demerit; being sometimes the plumage of greatness, nodding from an unidead brow; or a sample of illustrated emptiness, the swell and the beauty of a sun-gilt bubble. Often, we say, not always, so. Look and

see.

But now to the scripture lesson on this subject. Well, there is, we confess, something in the New Testament which is capable of being perverted into diplomatic honours. Our Saviour declared himself to be Master and Lord. He conferred wonderful endowments on twelve men. He armed them with miracles; he mitred them with flame; they were called apostles and am

bassadors for Christ. When we can exhibit similar qualifications we may then assume similar names, and safely call ourselves ambassadors too. If you claim the title show us your credentials, brother. Has it never occurred to you that the Pope is somewhat more consistent than dissenting ministers, who will be garnished with titles? For, it is as vicar of Christ, and successor of Peter, that he claims the name of Holy Father, which he professes to support by the sanctity of oral law, and an appeal to miracles; which the apostle calls 'lying wonders," having the charm of miraculous power on the credulity of superstitious minds?

The advocates of apostolic succession act in perfect accordance with their sentiments in the ranks they assume. The popular feeling is not a little awe-struck on high days at Oxford even now, to observe the mitre and the lawn worn by one order; the robe of scarlet silk covering another order; while the gown with velvet cuffs and shoulder patches of red cloth mark out a third order. Thus do the bishops, the masters of arts, and the doctors of divinity distinguish themselves from numerous tribes and graduates, illustrated by various shapes and colours of livery.

These distinctions are hereditary, and quite natural. The man of sin is the father of them all. They belong to a worldly sanctuary. Let them remain at home. Why should we put them on? Is not vanity the name of them all; and if we look closely, can we not see written upon them those portentous words, MYSTERY, BABYLON? What else do these diplomas mean? Why should our pastors be so fond of wearing them? Do we never hear a voice behind us, saying, "touch not the unclean thing and I will receive you?"

man

We are not aware of any special advantages that have resulted from titles, either to the state or the church. One wonderful * of our own time has been lost to his country ever since the sad hour in which his head was hidden in a coronet; and we may just remark in passing, that the sort of thing which obscures mental glory in the senate is not very likely to exalt it in the temple.

It is truly pleasant here to be reminded of Andrew Fuller and William Jay, of Robert Hall and Thomas Crisp, of Greville Ewing and James Hinton, and we think we may add, of John

Henry Brougham.

Foster also, at whose feet diplomas have been laid, but who did not stoop to the condescension of taking them up. Why did they not adorn themselves with these pious insignia?

Perhaps these noble-minded men first of all refused out of respect to the Saviour's forbiddance. He says, "be not ye called Rabbi;" whose English interpretation is, "thou art a teacher come from God;" but in the Latin tongue it means simply, "doctor of divinity." Will the great master, think you, smile upon that very thing in a Latin garb, which he has forbidden under the mental dress of Hebrew and Greek? "God is not mocked."

We may suppose another reason which would not let these excellent men wear the motto of D.D. They probably thought, that if any superiority of true greatness belonged to them, it would naturally show itself without the drapery of a name. The stars of genius and of goodness, like the stars of heaven, differ from each other greatly, but they are visible only by their own light.

Besides the great men whose names are above written, there are others who are eminently learned, and wise, and good, who are yet willing, (if said in Latin) to be called Rabbi. Some of them are very venerable indeed, and greatly beloved. They are called "doctors." "Herein," we honestly say, "is a marvellous thing;" we wonder how their titles look in the eyes of those devoted servants of their Lord, now that they are covered with the hoary honours of a long and useful service, and almost within reach of "the crown that fadeth not away."

DELTA.

CHARACTERISTICS OF CHRIST'S PREACHING.
NO. II.

Another prominent excellence of our Lord's preaching, was its SIMPLICITY. This was a very natural result of its spirituality. He is most likely to be simple, who concerns himself chiefly with the great fundamentals of duty, with the inward elements of character. Hence the whole Bible is thus distinguished, and no part of it more so than the discourses of Christ.

This characteristic of his preaching may be considered in two

points of light, in respect both to language and thought. His language was exceedingly simple. Not that it was low, or even inelegant. In more beautiful costume thought was never arrayed. The quotations so often made from his discourses, even when connected with the highest strains of human eloquence, are, to say the least of them, and to speak of their style alone, “like apples of gold in pictures of silver." They are beautiful in all their simplicity-yea, they are beautifully simple. This characteristic of language has, of itself, a charm. It not only brings truth down to the level of common minds, but makes that truth more attractive. And while it involves nothing of vulgarity or coarseness, we may truly say, that it is compatible with the very highest adornment.

But simplicity of thought is still more important, as to all the best ends of discourse, than simplicity of speech. Yet the one, obviously, may exist without the other. Nay, if we mistake not, the one has sometimes been the subject of much attention and solicitude, while the other has been little regarded. In our Lord's preaching, however, both these characteristics were combined. His trains of thought were marked by great simplicity. His illustrations were all borrowed from the objects of nature and the common affairs of life. Nor were they, on this account, the less clear and impressive; the reverse rather was true. It is a wise remark of Bacon: "They be not the highest instances that give the securest information, as may be well expressed in the tale so common of the philosopher, that while he gazed upwards to the stars he fell into the water; for if he had looked down, he might have seen the stars in the water, but looking aloft, he could not see the water in the stars. So it cometh often to pass, that mean and small things discover great, better than great discover the small." In simile and allegory, we may add, the preaching of Christ abounded. It may also be said of his whole ministry, "without a parable spake he not.” Truth was thus made palpable to the plainest understanding. Never did he exhibit it in an abstract way. His preaching was replete, if we may so say, with simple concretions. He dealt chiefly with masses of thought, with organic forms, rather than dissected members. He might be likened rather to the painter or the sculptor, than to the chemist or anatomist. He avoided utterly that excess of analysis which renders the preaching of some so

dry and unprofitable. Illustrations of these remarks we might draw from all his discourses. It will suffice to select but one.

On a certain occasion a lawyer "stood up and tempted him." He begged to know how he could secure eternal life. Jesus, in reply, referred him to the divine law, and questioned him as to his knowledge of it. He answered discreetly, giving a summary of the decalogue, and our Lord made application of it to his conscience. Willing, however, to justify himself, and troubled especially, it would seem, by the second great commandment, he began to question Jesus in respect to the duty it enjoins. "Who

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is my neighbour?" What is the nature and extent of the benevolence required? A great question this-a grand point in theology, proposed too by a learned and subtle man, and addressed to one "in whom are held all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge." How, think you, did he reply? Let conjecture, for a moment, take the place of memory, and the thoughtwore theologue answer after his kind: "He defined true benevolence, doubtless," methinks I hear one say, as the love of being in general." "Whatever else, he said," another replies, "he made this point clear, unquestionably, that of all specific, voluntary action, happiness is the ultimate end.” "Whatever view he took," says another, "he doubtless entered deeply into the nature of moral distinctions, and the ground of moral obligation; into the relations of man to his fellow-man, and the origin and scope of the social affections. His definitions, it may be presumed, were the most exact, his analysis profound and perfect, and his exposition of the whole subject-of its metaphysical aspects especially-clear, logical, and systematic." Turn we now to the record, and not a single definition do we find, not a solitary analytical process, not one abstract statement, not the merest shadow of metaphysics. His response was but a simple allegory: "A certain man came down from Jerusalem unto Jericho, and fell among thieves." We need not repeat the rest, it is fresh in the reader's recollection. Instead of defining, analyzing, or abstracting benevolence, he painted it, he bade it live and move, in human form, as it were, before his cavilling auditor.

The great importance of simplicity in preaching is apparent from various considerations. It is impossible without it to interest deeply the common people. By abstract and excessively